


you'll find this fight just doesn't mean a thing

by Wildehack (Tyleet)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ended on a Tuesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you'll find this fight just doesn't mean a thing

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or repost my work on any other site, even if it is credited under my name. I do not give permission to have my work hosted on any site except AO3.

The world ended on a Tuesday. Well. He was pretty sure it was over. The sun had guttered out like a candle an hour ago, it was raining blood—weak, anemic blood, no good for anyone to drink, even—and Spike was clinging to a nineteen-year old for dear life while she sped down Route 66 on a black motorbike and complained about nothing. Sometimes it felt like he was stuck in 2002.   
  
"I think that’s what caught us off balance," Dawn shouted at him over the roar of the wind and the bike, and he nodded into her shoulder, dizzy with blood loss. "Like! Monday would have been nice. Mondays are always kind of apocalyptic, because you’re coming off the weekend. Which, which would also make sense, in a Rebecca Black kind of way, maybe. But Tuesdays are just, like. Nothing days. You’re not falling asleep, are you? Don’t fall asleep! You don’t have a seatbelt!" She sounded a bit hysterical herself, her nothing-speech getting higher and higher as she went on, so he tried to reassure her.   
  
“‘M awake,” Spike said into Dawn’s ear, blinking hard to make sure it stayed that way, his hands tightening around her waist. His fingers were slippery, and he tried to peer over her shoulder. Her leather jacket and his hands were both covered in gore. “Is that you,” he asked, trying to concentrate, “Or the downpour?”   
  
"That’s you," Dawn yelled back, and pushed down a little harder on the gas, so that her hair flew back and smacked him in the face. It smelled like sulfur and death, and a little bit like girly flowery shampoo.   
  
"Oh," Spike replied, and looked down at himself. Things were missing all over the place, no mistake about that. No liver, one kidney, intestines all unspooled, other important things gone. But he could see his heart, red and whole, through the white bones of his ribcage. He decided to be grateful for small mercies.   
  
"There’s good news and bad news," he told Dawn, head sliding back down to her shoulder, her arteries pulsing right by his ear. He couldn’t help the grin that stole onto his face. "Soul’s gone. But the heart’s still in the right place."   
  
” _Fuck_ ,” Dawn said, and hit the brakes.   
  
He didn't kill her. Obviously he didn't kill her. "I'm a little bit sad you'd even think it, niblet," he told her, lifting his head up from her neck. Her pulse was beating--weakly, but beating, and now he was mostly healed. All that good strong mystical Key mojo flowing through him, Buffy's blood flowing in his veins and making him better, whole. She was still conscious, and gave him a narrow glare--that was his girl, stubborn to the last. "Well," he said with a smile, wiping his mouth clean, "Also a little flattered. You've always been a smart girl. But we're better off this way, aren't we?" And they were: he had supernatural strength and lots of experience with murder. She knew her way around a crossbow, but they were clearly better off with him handling the killing.   
  
He swung her up back up onto the motorbike, wrapped her arms tenderly around his waist. "We'll take it in shifts," he said, gunning the engine and guiding them back onto the road. "You have yourself a rest, and I'll get us past trouble. When trouble claws me up, I'll take a bit of a rest. But we'll get there."   
  
"Where are you taking me," she said through gritted teeth. Her plan had been to find Willow, on the theory that Willow could find Buffy.   
  
"First off, we're gonna find you some orange juice," he said gently. "Can't have you fainting on us. Then I thought maybe we'd slay the dragon, save the world. How's that sound?" He thought maybe she'd ask him why he'd bother, wanted to see her face when he gave the same answer as before: he wanted to see how it ended. Only she didn't. But that was his Dawn--surprising him to the last.  
  
"Sure," Dawn said, hands digging into his ribs. "That should take until Friday, wouldn't you say?"    
  
"S'pose," he said. "Why, you got plans for the weekend?"   
  
"You could say that," she said into his ear, warm and close. "On Saturday, I kill you."   
  
He tipped his ancient face up to the crimson sky, grinned at the darkening world. "Looking forward to it, love."   
  
  



End file.
